Motorcycles revving. Flags waving. Leather jackets gleaming under the June sun. When the San Francisco Dykes on Bikes rolled down T Street last Sunday, they weren’t just leading Sacramento’s 2026 Pride March—they were carrying five decades of queer history on their shoulders.
It’s easy to forget that this parade exists because of rage. The original Sacramento march in 1979 was born from resistance, a direct response to a police raid on Upstairs/Downstairs, a gay disco downtown. That’s not ancient history. That’s living memory. And it’s the through-line connecting Sunday’s celebration all the way back to the moment queer people decided they wouldn’t hide anymore.
Michelle Reynolds, a board member of Dykes on Bikes, was at the front of the pack on her motorcycle, representing an organization that hit its 50th anniversary this year. For Reynolds, the work goes beyond parades. She and her crew cross the country on long rides, stopping in small towns in places like Washington and Montana—rural places where queer visibility isn’t just welcome, it’s transformative.“We stop in these small towns and we see queer women that come out and they’re just, they don’t have representation in these small towns,”Reynolds said.“It’s super inspiring to be able to see these women and show them that we’re visible out here.”That’s not a throwaway detail. That’s the actual point.
The parade itself was packed with the kind of energy you’d expect: the Sacramento Sirens Cheer Elite tossing members into the air every block, raising money for Sunburst Projects, a nonprofit offering HIV and AIDS testing and treatment. Misty Dawn Mastella, a founding member and coach of the squad, described performing on hot concrete and asphalt as physically demanding—but worth it.“Everybody comes out and shows us so much love, shows each other so much love,”she said. That’s what a Pride march should feel like. Not mandatory. Genuine.
The crowds reflected that. Justin Miller, who’s lived in Sacramento for 20 years, attended the march for the first time this year.“This really was the year for me to go and just be a part of the community and just be here in support and love,”he said. Ben Millner, watching from his front porch in a new neighborhood, called out the diversity on display.“People filling out all the sidewalks has been awesome, with the added bonus of all the different kinds of people represented in the parade.”
That’s what sustained resistance looks like—not anger, but visibility. Not demands, but presence. Forty-seven years after that first march, Sacramento still shows up.
About the Author
Andrew Johnson
Andrew Johnson is a contributor to LocalBeat, covering local news and community stories.
